The Space Around This Heart
by childliketendencies
Summary: On the eve of Nationals in New York, Finn has to battle some inner demons when he's called upon to find the missing Rachel. But a love as deep as theirs can never just disappear completely, so might this be the night that will bring them back together?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yes, it's a new story. Again. And the others are still not finished. But bear with me - I had to get this out of my system. I fully blame my fildos for infecting me with their angstmonsters and driving my smutmonster into temporary hiding (under Eera's rock, most likely!)._

_But this is not what you think it is. I am aware this first chapter is a bit... gloomy. It's the end of Junior year and the Glee club's about to perform at Nationals. And Finchel's still very much apart. Word of warning: if you don't like Finn, you're reading the wrong fic. Welcome to the messed up mind of post-breakup Finn. It doesn't get any darker than this._

* * *

_Daybreak, break me, and take me home_  
_This place, was in me, from the start_

_It's the hardest part_  
_When day turns dark_  
_With nothing left for me to hold_  
_I'll grow old alone_  
_If I don't close_  
_The space that's all around this heart_

_And I'm losing myself_  
_without some, without someone else_  
_And I'm losing myself, myself_

_

* * *

_

"Wait, where's Berry?"

Finn is stretching out his legs and going for the wallet in his jeans pocket when he hears Santana ask the question. She's still leaning into him, and her hand's burning a hole into his thigh if she's not going to move it soon, but he doesn't really care. He's just had a really nice dinner, and they totally snuck some bourbon past Mr Schue into all their cokes (courtesy of Puck's hidden supplies) so now all he really wants is a bed. Thinking of anything other than sleep sounds like a chore now.

But he guesses he should put in some sort of effort, since he's co-captain and all that. So he sits up a bit. He casts a lazy eye around the table. She's right – Rachel isn't there anymore. He eyes the members of the club one by one, but they all shake their heads or shrug. Until his eyes meet those of Kurt.

"She left."

There's something in his brother's eyes that makes him look away. He's glad when Santana steps up for him.

"What? When?"

"Over an hour ago, actually. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to find out you missed her presence so enormously."

Kurt's eyes flicker over to Santana, the sarcasm dripping from his words so much that it's not even lost on Finn at this time of the night. He catches himself wincing, and tries to hide it by nervously fiddling with the zipper on his wallet

"Well, you could just keep your big mouth shut, babyface."

"Oh no worries, I don't want to make her any more miserable than she already was, Satan-a."

When Finn raises his head to look at Kurt, he finds his brother's eyes fixed on him instead of Santana. They burn into him with this kind of intensity, like he's having this whole conversation with Santana but it's like Kurt's eyes are trying to talk to him instead. It makes him uneasy.

"Oh boohoo! Let me guess, she's gone to cry some more over missing her chance for a solo?"

"San!" he hisses at her, and pulls away the hand still gripping his thigh. Her sharpened nails were digging into him; she still doesn't know when enough is enough. It hurts.

"Seriously? She's more likely crying over the way you tw-"

"Can it, both of you!" Mercedes' roar comes from across the table and ends the conversation.

"Hell, _I'm_ close to crying myself over the way you two are carrying on right in front of her," he hears Kurt mutter under his breath, however.

Unease flips to annoyance. _It's not like that!_ He wants to tell him – once again – but now Kurt's looking down at the table in front of him, trying studiously to avoid meeting Finn's eyes.

And by the time they've all paid up, and are ready to leave the restaurant, he's stopped caring about it again. It's pointless, anyway – they just believe what they want.

It's not until they're all crammed into a taxi cab that he thinks of her sitting in one just like that, by herself, and suddenly it's all he can do to laugh hysterically because he has this irrational fear that he's going to cry if he stops.

* * *

Someone's banging on his door not even 10 minutes after they got back, and Finn can barely muster the energy to get up and open it.

"What?" he growls at Kurt who is standing just outside his door with an expression on his face that reminds him too much of the one he wore earlier. He's not in the mood for getting into some stupid argument now; all he wants is to be left alone and sleep.

"Rachel's not here," his brother says.

_Rachel_. Why does it always have to come back to her? He's so tired of it.

"So?"

Kurt stares at him for a long moment, the expression on his face gradually changing to disbelief.

"SO? Is that really all you've got to say?"

He knows Kurt expects something different from him, but it's not like there's anything he can do about it. Because it's Rachel they're talking about. Why doesn't anyone get that she's not his responsibility anymore? Santana was right earlier - she's probably off sulking somewhere; it's what Rachel's best at.

"Look," he starts to say, no longer bothering to hide his annoyance. "If she thinks she can spend the last night before the competition playing drama queen and hoping to put some kind of guilt trip on us all, then she's really mistaken. Here's the thing – I don't fucking care. And neither should you. So why don't you g—"

He doesn't get any further because suddenly Kurt's right in front of him, and there's this look on his face, and for a moment Finn thinks the smaller boy's about to punch him, and he's so shocked by the possibility of that happening that he forgets what he was going to say - but then the moment passes and all that happens is that Kurt's eyes shut tightly as he's taking a long breath.

In the sudden silence, Finn becomes aware of something.

Sometimes, when he drinks too much coffee or energy drinks, he gets this weird feeling in his chest, like he's somehow swallowed stones and they're pulling him down while someone's playing the drums with a really heavy, slow beat.

Even though he's not had any coffee or stuff like that, it's just like that now.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He's waiting for Kurt to say something, even though he knows – he _knows_ – it's not something he wants to hear. But it's like he's rooted to the spot, and all he can feel is that slow, loud pounding of the _thing_ in his chest.

When Kurt finally opens his mouth to address him, his voice is a dangerous edgy growl unlike anything he's ever heard from him.

"Listen to me, Finn: when your ex-girlfriend, who I am sure should be classified as clinically depressed, suddenly disappears in the middle of the night after being subjected to what I can only call the worst example of tactlessness ever, then there is something seriously wrong. I know you prefer to walk through your life totally oblivious to whatever's happening around you these days, but would you please pull your head out of the sand and realize that what you are doing isn't just destructive to you but to those who love you, too?"

. . . .

"DAMNIT, FINN!"

Kurt's shouting at him, and all Finn can do is stare at the way his eyes are filling with moisture.

"Can't you see how much you hurt her? How much all of this hurts her?"

The smaller boy moves his head from left to right, his eyes lingering on the scenery outside the hotel window for a moment, where the night sky is barely visible past the millions of lights. When Kurt's eyes finally meet his again, the moisture's turned to tears spilling over his cheeks.

"All she's dreamed about for the last year was you and this damned city. She had it all planned out - what she was going to show you first, where you were going to have pictures taken together, where to take you for dinner… all that. Don't tell me you don't know! Don't tell me you're that clueless!"

Finn looks past him, staring at those lights out there. There are so many. They look like a million bright, twinkling stars if you squint your eyes a bit. A city made of stars. She's always wanted to become one of them. She's had it all figured out – a career on Broadway, a couple of Tony's by 25, babies raised in the Jewish faith, marrying him- he squeezes his eyes shut against the memories flooding his brain. _No, no, no_.

He doesn't need this now.

"Kurt, you don't—" he begins, turning around, but words fail him once more when he looks into his step-brother's eyes.

"That's right, I don't. I don't have a clue what's going on in your head. This isn't you! None of this is you! This whole thing with Santana, not wanting to sing, pretending not to care about Rachel?"

He doesn't know what to say to that.

"You know what? This is pointless. Have a good night, Finn."

And then Kurt's gone, and it's just himself again. He hears the door click shut behind him. He's alone in this room, so he does what he's supposed to do, what he wanted to do before Kurt came by; he shuffles back to the bed and lies down on it, and waits for sleep.

* * *

'berry is missing'

'I kno'

'u need 2 find her'

'no I don't'

'u have 2"

'NO!.!'

'we need her tmrw'

'she's not singing'

'fine U need her tmrw'

'NO'

'ur not fooling me'

'I don't need her'

'STOP IT'

. . .

'u r the only one who has a chance 2 find her'

'why?'

'u know her'

'not anymore'

'WE BOTH KNOW BETTER. DON'T YOU EVEN FUCKING PRETEND WITH ME. I CAN DEAL WITH IT. YOU CAN'T. GO OUT THERE AND FIND HER.'

'ENOGH!'

'get over yourself'

'WHY THE FUCK DO YOU CARE?'

'REALLY? YOU WANA GET NTO THAT NOW? FUCK YOU!'

'sorry'

. . .

'San? Sorry!'

. . .

'SANTANA! COME ON!'

. . .

'I'm a moron San. But a sorry moron.'

'just go find her OK?'

'maybe'

'you'll be the fucking glee club hero again'

'shut up'

* * *

The thing with trying to forget something if it's something to do with feelings and stuff? Yeah it doesn't always work so well. Especially not for him.

It's like he's doomed to remember all of it. Just when he thinks he might just have caught a break, it's all coming crashing down on him again.

Santana was right. He knows exactly where to find Rachel Berry, even in this city that he's never been in before. He remembers the conversation they had about it, almost word for word.

Figures he's got some kind of memory super power when it comes to Rachel Berry talk. Maybe he really is doomed.

* * *

"I'm going after her," he says to Kurt barely 5 minutes later, when his brother's finally answered to his knocking.

"Finn-"

Finn gives his step-brother a long look, daring him to say anything now that he's changed his mind to do what Kurt wants. After a moment Kurt nods.

He's still not entirely certain why he's doing this. Maybe because Santana is right. And maybe because Kurt is, too. He owes her this much, after everything.

"I would just like to point out that it's a big city, Finn. It's not Lima. You're not going to simply run into her walking down the street. You had better think- no, actually, you had better know exactly where to look, because I don't think we can take on Nationals without you two tomorrow."

Finn rolls his eyes at that, his hand already on the door handle.

"Drama queen."

"I'm serious, Finn."

"Neither of us is singing leads, so I don't think you've got to worry about it if we didn't show up," he says, and clears his throat uncomfortably. He doesn't like being reminded of not getting anything to sing, but he's dug that hole for himself, so he has to live with it now. However much it stings. "But who says I don't know where to find her?"

Kurt just looks back at him and slowly raises an eyebrow. "_You_ know where to find her?"

For a moment he feels like making an issue of it. He's so sick and tired of everyone always questioning him. It seems like that's the only thing he's heard for the last 5 months. He knows he's not smart, he knows it, right? He knows he could have made better choices, he knows he's messed up in so many ways, he knows he's never going to amount to anything. _He knows_. And he's accepted that now. But damnit, sometimes…. sometimes he thinks it would be so nice to hear _something_ different again.

But it's only Kurt. It's not worth getting fussed about. Let it drop, no point getting angry over it now.

"Yes."

And with that, he leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

He's in the otherwise empty elevator on his way down into the lobby when it hits him: this kind of odd, hollow dread at the pit of his stomach, and the more he's thinking about it the worse it gets. It's not like the strange feeling that washed over him when he realized San was being serious about him going after Rachel; it's not at all the _oh-shit-I'm-gonna-have-to-go-fix-this-cos-no-one-else-will _feeling that was a mix of annoyance and a little bit of fear (cos he'gotta admit he's afraid of the drama every conversation with her would inevitably turn into so he's been avoiding them like the frigging plague).

It's this whole other thing. This giant, big, _I'm-so-close-to-fucking-freaking-out-just-thinking-about-it_ thing that he can't really put a label on. This _I'mmissingoutI'mdeadinsideI'mnothingbutahollowshade_ feeling that freaks him out so much he feels like crying.

_Look who's being a drama queen now._

What freaks him out most right now is this feeling that he's felt it before. And not just once… If everything is really quiet, if there's no noise, no distraction, no other people - and no annoying voice in his head doing a running commentary on all the shit in his life – then all that is really left is this same dread. It's like it's there all the time, but he never notices because, let's face it he's become a total ace at distracting himself, and maybe this is like one of those things he saw once on Star Trek, where your brain gives you like a memory wipe every time and then you get this de-jah something and you see into your own mind and suddenly there's all these other times you felt exactly like that. But there's supposed to be this moment of super clarity, where everything just makes sense, and it doesn't happen like that for him – he's just more confused. And shit scared. Maybe it's not a déjà vu (that's what it's called).

When he exits the elevator at ground level, he has this odd feeling that even though he's at the bottom and leaving it, he's still somehow stuck inside and going further down. But it's only for a second, and then he remembers what he's trying to do - _gotta get a map of that place, wonder if the reception guy has one _-, and the moment is past. And that dread once more forgotten.

* * *

_The song this story was inspired by is Bonnie Dune's _Keep Me_ (weird, right?)_.

_Leave some love in review form, please?_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Took me a bit. Sorry about that. My creativity is being sucked dry by my job, sharing a house with my folks again, and an unhealthy addiction to other people's (much better) fics. This bit is shorter, but the next one (I'm working on that already) is sort of a monster, so I thought I'd post this in two separate chapters so you'd have something to read while you're waiting. I might get around to updating the other stories I've started, over the next few days (/weeks/months/years )._

_Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own them, I just spent way too much time letting them have conversations in my head._

* * *

He should've asked the cab driver to bring him as close to the place as he could, instead of dropping him off on the road running along the side of the park. But he'd just figured that was the closest there was, and how was he to know this damned park was going to turn out so big? There isn't any place in Lima like a drive-through park (cos there totally are cars driving through here, he had to get out of the way of some crazy dude in a souped-up pickup truck when he first started walking), unless you were on a bicycle or something, and anyway, they were all maybe the size of a football field or something. This place seems just fucking huge.

He's really angry at himself for not taking that map that the con-cons—something at the hotel reception tried to press on him. But seriously, how was he to know?

She'd never mentioned Central Park is this huge.

It's a giant sort of problem, because he's pretty sure he's passed the same sign twice already in the past 10 minutes, and he doesn't really know where he is. Not like it would help him to know that, because he has no map and all – but shouldn't these fancy signposts at least bring him to the right spot?

"_You just follow this road, and take a left after the next intersection. It's gonna come up on your right after a few minutes. Easy!"_

Yeah well, what came up was this stupid signpost, well before an intersection, and he'd figured he'd take a shortcut instead of listening to the cab driver who'd seemed kinda dodgy anyway, and in an awful hurry to leave when he'd asked him the directions. So now he was apparently running around in circles, without a clue of how to retrace his steps and start over again.

He's pretty sure his cellphone battery's gonna die soon, too. The pathway he's on is barely lit, and if he's really honest with himself it's sort of frightening to be out in a place that's supposed to be a park but looks more like a giant jungle in the dark. So he's been using the flashlight of his cellphone, and it's already down to only one bar.

When he comes to the next fork in the path – this one doesn't look familiar and there's another signpost – he stops under the comforting light of the lamp post. The sign says "Delacorte Theater 300yrds" so it seems he is moving in the right direction after all.

Central Park at this hour isn't silent like one would expect. Then again, this is a big city, with thousands of people moving around and stuff; he can still hear the sound of car engines and honking and sirens somewhere. But they're a dull noise now; now that he is standing there in the middle of this forest (a fricking forest in the middle of a city, who'd have thought it possible?) it slowly dawns on him that, yeah, even if it's a city park and all, he's still in a forest and it's midnight and there might be all kinds of creatures out there, and this is New York and couldn't there be criminals and serial killers and all those kinds of people sneaking around, too? Because he's seen that on an episode of CSI one day, this story, about some serial killer who was killing off young girls and burying them around this lake in Central Park. So yeah, it's totally not a safe place to go to in the middle of the night by yourself, especially not for girls, and what the hell is Rachel thinking, picking th-

_Rachel._

His heart is beating so fast it's almost racing. There's that one moment in which his brain feels like frozen: caught between fear for her, and fear of her. It's utterly ridiculous. How can he feel both afraid for her and afraid of her? How can be afraid of her, really? Afraid? Of her? Why? WHY? Why would he be afraid of her? He gets why he fears for her – there's that serial killer and all, and it's dark and she's alone, and she should be scared but she's probably telling herself to be brave, and while that's really something he admired it could really get her killed in this city. He should go and save her – that's what he's come for, after all? Not that he'd thought he'd have to rescue her from some mass murderer or something but he'd come to talk some sense into her so she'd come back to the hotel and stop acting this crazy.

How the fuck is he going to do that? How? Why had he ever thought he would be the best choice for this job? Santana had been so wrong. 'Cos this is Rachel, and he's Finn, and she's no longer his – his – his responsibility, his problem, his girlfriend, his… _love_.

It's just a name. Just a silly name. Just one face, one person. One tiny slip of a girl.

Why does every thought of her tonight, every memory of her touch, bring this horrible, horrible hollowness with it? For a moment he feels like he's running out of air; that dreadful sinking feeling is back. With a shaky hand he squeezes the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut, willing the world to stop turning for one instant so he can catch a breath and figure this out.

He leans against the lamp-post, frantically searching his mind for something, some excuse, some explanation of all of this. Too much bourbon in his coke; too much excitement; too much running through unknown places; too much unnecessary drama…. Yeah, that's probably it.

Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and stares at the illuminated sign once more. "Delacorte Theater, 300yrds" it still says. And under it, pointing down the right fork of the path, "Shakespeare Garden, 300yrds." That's where he'll find her. That's where he has to go.

But he's rooted to the spot.

_Come on, she's just … a girl. Just some girl who isn't feeling too well – who needs to be convinced to come back and get some sleep and tomorrow it'll all be okay again. That's all._

His cellphone beeps; even hidden in his jeans pocket, the sound seems supernaturally loud in the silence of the darkness all around him. Glad for a diversion, he pulls it out, thumbs it open, stares at the message.

'sorry about earlier, we're both morons I guess, u can fix ur mistake tonite tho so don't mess it up. U don't owe me anything Finn, I know & accept that. It's ur turn now. San.'

He swallows, closes his eyes once more as he holds the phone for another second before flipping it closed and slipping it back into his pocket. He's fighting for some semblance of control over his thoughts, and it's like wading in some murky pool with the wrong kinds of shoes on. But he's got too much experience at it by now; it takes longer than usual, but he's finally got it.

Santana is wrong. There's nothing to fix. There's just a silly girl with an overblown sense of theatricality who needs some convincing, tonight. And he's gonna do it. Because he owes her.

He pushes himself off the cool metal pole, and continues on his way, trying not to look too much at the darkness at his side. But he's barely walked a minute – or so it seems to his distracted senses – when through the darkness he can hear something.

Something that is utterly familiar.

Something that makes the dread in his belly twist his insides around further.

Something that pulls him in nevertheless, that makes it impossible for him to think straight.

Her voice.

* * *

_Footnote: You know you want to click on the review link, right? Seriously, I think half the reason my creative muse is so low is because it's not getting enough love. Don't feel afraid to let me know what you think of it so far, I actually need to know so I can see what I can do to improve things._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry for what is essentially a filler chapter. But it had to get out, and it's very necessary to show this inner struggle within him. Next one should be up soon, too._

_A/N #2: Had to go back and edit some things (mainly errors & separator lines) and re-write the ending a bit. Next time I'll know not to keep on writing when I'm already half asleep.  
_

* * *

It's coming from far off still, an eerie thing in the darkness, her voice that used to be so full of power, of strength, of determination – of everything that made her Rachel Berry; it's still there now, but there's something else to it. Some other quality.

* * *

_**I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone**_

* * *

_You can kiss me if you want to you can kiss me if you want to you can kiss me if you want to_

_Her eyes are so big and so so shiny; and he feels like he's about to drown in them and she's just saying what he wished – hoped – wanted her to say all along, ever since he heard her talk about giving in to hormones and stuff. He's not been able to stop thinking of her ever since, imagining what she'd do to him, what those full red lips would feel like against his, what her fingers would feel like running down his spine. And now she's said it, and he thinks he's about to combust or something cos there isn't a part of him that isn't somehow feeling like he's on fire. He's feeling panicky and his heart's hammering so fast in his chest that he's afraid it's gonna explode or something, and it's like every nerve in his body is aware of her presence, of her closeness, of… everything that is her._

_

* * *

_

He shakes his head, shakes the errant tatter of a memory off. He doesn't need this.

He knows the song. It's dark, depressing stuff; some Evanescence song she must've picked up from Tina. It doesn't sound like something she would sing. But then again, he's had little knowledge of the songs she sings these days.

He's been avoiding all those rehearsals like the fucking plague.

Because he can be in the same room with her, he can share classes with her, he can even have a conversation with her (as long as it's no more than 20 words or so); but he cannot handle hearing her sing.

It does stuff. And he can't take that.

* * *

_**These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase**_

* * *

"_Last year when we were here you told me you loved me."_

_For a second it feels like his heart's about to shrivel up and cease existing, just like that. He doesn't know what he was thinking and this is so not the time to not know what he's saying because it's like every word he says to her is being put on a scale and prodded and probed and analysed (probably more by himself than her). The look in her eyes is full of something (everything he hasn't wanted to think about), and he doesn't know what to say anymore, or even do, and he realises he's scared. Fuck. He's so, so scared. Because that look - how can she look at him like that and get this whole mess in his heart to twist and knot even further? That look—-_

_Yeah. This is what he's been scared of. He shouldn't have opened his stupid mouth. Cos now it's like he's re-living that moment in his head (and he thinks she is, too, and he doesn't think he can take the look in her eyes) and remembering, and he didn't want to remember, he didn't want to feel, didn't want to let himself feel anything like he'd felt that moment. But he's feeling it now, or starting to, and it's scary and painful and… and…. he has to get away from her, he feels like he's going to fall to pieces with this pain in his chest because he wants to tell her he still loves her, because she'd deserve it but he's so fucking scared of letting himself feel this much again._

_

* * *

_

He doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's just the song. Maybe it just hits too close to home. But there he is, and whether he wants it or not, every small word somehow seems to have some kind of meaning in it. Some stupid memory attached. He doesn't want this now. He doesn't need it.

It's all her damned voice. It's too much. It's always been too much. It makes him _feel_ so much, and he can't handle that.

Maybe he really shouldn't be doing this now. Maybe he should just call the others, tell them where they could find her and wash his hands off the entire matter.

* * *

_**When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears.**_

* * *

"_She lied to you."  
"What?"  
"She lied. It's not your baby, Finn. She's a lying cheat, and doesn't deserve you." _

_Her voice keeps on going and going but he's not listening anymore because the world just stopped dead in its tracks and he can swear there's like this giant clock somewhere, giving off a hollow, deep tick tock, and her mouth is still moving, and seriously how can she have such perfect lips, nothing like Quinn's who are thin and cold, cold, so cold, maybe because she's a lying, cheating bitch and wow this makes total sense now that he sees it with different eyes; all those times he's caught them looking at each other, and oh my God-_

_He doesn't make a move; he's rooted to the spot when really all he wants to do is puke his guts out because what he's thinking right now is so so so messed up, and it makes his insides churn and twist worse than the time he had to go to the ER because of a stomach bug; but he's rooted to the spot and still staring at Rachel Berry, whose eyes are big and shiny and bright and then everything's blurred. Everything just goes blurry and for a second he freaks, but there's this giant gasp erupting from his own lips and he didn't know it was in him and then he feels her finger on his cheek._

_She's wiping his cheek and he doesn't even realize they're his own tears for a second, but then he does and he's ashamed. And angry. And suddenly – just angry. He turns away from her. He can't deal with her compassion now. Now that he wants to kill someone. _

* * *

His step falters, he almost stumbles over his own foot as he turns a corner in the darkness, trying to tell himself it has nothing to do with any of this, but he's a shitty liar even to himself about it.

His phone battery is almost dead. If he really wants to abort this whole mad attempt, he's going to have to use it and call someone else down here. Maybe Puck. Or Kurt. They can deal with this better than he can. All he has to do is tell them where to go – it's not like he's the only one able to find this place.

* * *

_**When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears.**_

* * *

"_They all knew, Rach! All of them! They sat around me day after day, watching all the shit going down, all the fucking ways she made my life a fucking nightmare…Fuck! The bills! I got a fucking sucky job just so she'd get off my back and she- she- IT WAS ALL A FUCKING LIE!"  
"Finn…."  
"Tell me Rach - did they all know? Outside of Glee club? Did everyone know? AM I REALLY THIS FUCKING STUPID THAT I'VE BEEN RUNNING AROUND DEAF DUMB AND BLIND TO THEM ALL LAUGHING AT ME BEHIND MY BACK?"_

_He's this far from losing it, and doesn't really know why he hasn't yet. It's a change from the crying, but ever since Rachel showed up on his doorstep looking like nothing he'd ever seen he's not been able to cry, she's seen him cry and that was bad enough. Instead, now he's just angry again. At himself, at them, at everyone. He has this urge to shout the house down, to make the walls crash and tumble under the onslaught of it all, but then all she has to do is take his hand. And nothing is clearer any more than the feeling of the bed underneath him as he lies there, stretched out, his aching head on his arms, while her fingers are rubbing over his back in small circles, her voice for once not shrill or demanding or overbearing but sweet and soothing and telling him he should never ever doubt himself – that it'll all be okay, somehow. He wants to believe her. So bad._

* * *

There's nothing stopping him from turning around now if he really wants to. Needs to. No one will tell him to keep going now. Now that he's stopped in the middle of the path.

Now that he's turned and taken three steps into the opposite directions.

Now that he's turned back again towards her.

There's nothing stopping him.

So why hasn't he?

_**

* * *

And I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
All of me**_

* * *

_Holding his hand out for her to take; they've done this so many times at rehearsal but this time it means so much more. Because it's really not his hand he's asking her to take, right? It's like two minutes now - two minutes since he told her, in exchange for a 'break a leg' and a smile; his heart's been drumming its beat in his head since then, every single beat leading up to this very moment feeling like this is going to be the last because he doesn't know what he would do if she didn't take it, or took it like some piece of rotted meat or something. He thinks there's something in her eyes though, ever since he told her; the whole song has made him feel like he might keel over because the look in her eyes as she stared at him across a whole row of people made him forget where to put his feet but he's done it anyway and maybe that was because of that look in her eyes, too. He'd just wanted to make her proud. And now it is up to her, though, and his heart's about to leap out of his chest if she doesn't take his hand soon- and then she does. And the world is just…. Right._

* * *

He's stopped again. He feels vaguely sick. His phone light is flickering weakly, about to die.

**

* * *

You used to captivate me  
By your resonating light**

* * *

_He's been kind of freaked out to see her amongst the kids at Glee club – actually, to see any of them there - and frankly, when she's pushing and pulling her way past the others and approaching him with this manic look in her eyes, he's mentally running down all the instances of Puck and him torturing her, and wondering if she has an axe or a mullet or something hidden somewhere which she's going to swing at him in revenge, it makes him want to run the hell out of the auditorium at the fastest pace he can muster. And not just from her but from all of them – it is like all the kids they've ever done something nasty to have ganged up to form this club and maybe Mr Schue is in on it, which totally makes sense considering Glee club was the alternative to detention and all that. But he finds he's unable to move because of her voice. It's loud, and powerful, and it makes him forget to breathe for a second and he almost loses track of what he is supposed to sing, and when the song is done all he can do is stand there and look at her, still in some kind of shock that such a voice could come out of this girl that he's never really seen before (he has, but as just this freak that Puck likes to bombard with eggs or other stuff_).

* * *

**Now I'm bound by the life you left behind**

* * *

He's not bound by anything, he's not bound, he can do this, he can keep walking, he can stop remembering, every step he takes away from her is going to stop it. Stop the memories.

_Just keep walking away. Keep walking._

**

* * *

Your face it haunts  
My once pleasant dreams  
Your voice it chased away  
All the sanity in me**

* * *

He can do this he can do this he can do this he can do this he only needs to keep on walking away, just keep on walking, that's all. One foot before the other. And another. And another. Her voice is chasing him away, but it's like he's cursed: the song has cursed him to see it, to feel it. But he has to keep walking, only walking, not thinking, just walking away, not thinking, not feeling. Her face isn't haunting him, nothing like that, no, he's not seeing her in his imagination, sitting on some lonely bench, all alone in the darkness, tears falling, singing her heart out to the night. He's not seeing anything like that. He's not. He's NOT. He's walking away from this, he's had a choice and he's made it, and it's the right choice and he has to stick by it no matter what. And it doesn't matter that he's got this awful sinking feeling again and that the part of him that can't stop thinking about her or feeling something keeps filling his head with noise he doesn't want to listen to.

**

* * *

These wounds won't seem to he-**

* * *

He's finished the line in his head before he realizes that the song broke off. For a moment he's confused, because he doesn't know what's wrong about it - or that he's been mouthing the words along - then realisation hits him. She's stopped singing. Before the end of the line.

So he stops. Walking. Breathing. Something's constricting his chest. His brain's gone into temporary freeze; he literally cannot think. He's willing all noise to stop but even the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears seems too loud. He has to hear if there's anything else. Any more noise from her.

Sounds of a struggle. Sounds of her crying. Just anything.

Without thinking, he turns around, walks back into the direction he's come from. Back towards her. Maybe he's just too far away now. Maybe it's nothing.

With a last feeble flicker, the battery on his cellphone is dead. But his eyes don't need light now; it's as if his feet and this dreadful dreadful fear in the pit of his stomach are enough to show him the way.

He can't stop. Won't stop now. His heart's in his throat. What if something's happened? What if…? What if…? He has to find out now, to see her, to hear her. To see she's okay.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for not updating for a long time but I've been stumbling over what to do next. I originally meant to move this forward to where Finn meets Rachel, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head of having to figure out what happened in their past to get the stone rolling to bring them to the point where they had hurt each other so much they would not even want to talk to each other. So a while ago I had this conversation in my head between them, and I finally fleshed it out now. It's difficult for me because I don't usually write in Rachel's POV, but somehow that is what happened and I couldn't stop it. And then I wasn't sure if I should post it now, at this point, or whether I should make it a separate one-shot, and just have Finn revisit it in flashbacks in the story. But I really don't want yet another one-shot off-spin of this story, so… there it is. A flashback. And maybe the best way I could introduce Rachel's part of this story, at this point. You'll get to hear enough about Finn's memories of this in the future chapters anyway, I'm sure.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Where there once was love**

_He comes to her one day, joining her in that quiet way of his as she's walking out of the school cafeteria. She doesn't know if he just waited for her to come out or if he's been in there all along; she's spent her lunch break sitting with Mercedes and Tina and Lauren and Puck and it was actually probably one of the best lunches she's had lately. (__Even though now that she sees him she realizes why – she thinks it might be progress that she doesn't know if he's been in the cafeteria all along)_

"_Hi," he says, softly, from behind her as he catches up._

_It's the first time he's talked to her in over a week. (The last time was at Regionals, and she still wishes she could turn back time and make him unsay those three words that hurt so much because they weren't the words she had hoped to hear.)_

"_Hi," she replies, not looking over at him as she continues walking, dodging a trio of cheerios as she does - making sure not to bump into him at the same time._

"_I need to talk to you," he says, quietly, and she can feel his fingers slipping around her arm, slowing her down._

_She doesn't want to, really. She just wants to hang on to that feeling she had during lunch for a bit longer; but the part of her that can't forget everything else (the part wishing she could have him back) is too strong to ignore. "Okay," she says, finally, and cringes inwardly at the tinge of resignation sounding through in her own voice. _

_They've stopped in the hallway._

"_Not here," he says, and pulls her softly along. _

_Her heartbeat is racing by the time they enter the empty choir room, and not only because of the fast pace that got them there. She doesn't want to let herself hope, really, but the oddly comfortable silence on the way and his familiar touch on her arm have made her feel hopeful against her better judgment. If only she could shake the memory of him entering the room in a similar way with Quinn the day before…_

_But try as she might, she cannot keep her hopefulness out of her voice when she turns to face him once he's closed the door behind them. "Well?"_

_He doesn't meet her eyes. She watches him struggle for words for a moment until the silence in the room becomes awkward. "You seem happier," he mumbles, sounding like he forgot what he wanted to talk about._

_She doesn't know what to reply to that. Does she seem happier? She sure doesn't feel so, most of the time._

"_They're nicer to you now, " he adds after a moment and, as if it needed further explanation of whom he was talking about, he indicates the rows of chairs behind her with a half-hearted circular motion of his hand._

_Things have been different since Regionals. It's like making her MVP was the turning point, but she's still wary of their acceptance. "Yeah." _

"_It's really good to see that," he says._

_She wonders how long it will take him to get to why he brought her here. Surely this can't be it._

"_I'm glad they are. You deserve it. I wish they'd seen it before. I mean, it's kinda sad that it took you singing it to them to make them realize it, but still – it's like a giant step…" He looks at her with an expression that is almost pleading, even if his words don't sound like a plea. _

"_Yeah," she slowly replies. She doesn't get what all this is about. There must be something she's missing._

"_You're happy, right? About it?" Why is he making it sound so apologetic? And why won't he meet her eyes?_

"_Yes, Finn," she says after a moment, trying to make sense of this. Whatever it is, it's slowly making her more annoyed than anything. She can't help but ask: "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"_

_Maybe some of her rising annoyance is getting through to him because he finally – finally! – raises his eyes to meet hers._

"_Look—I just—" he stumbles over the words, and if she wasn't so annoyed already, and if this was another time, she'd find it as adorable as always but right now she just wishes he would get to the point before she's had enough. "I-I just – we're still friends, right? I just—just wanted to make sure, you know, that you knew I'm still your friend, even with—"_

_Is he serious? They haven't exchanged a word or look in over a week, Quinn's been giving her pointed looks whenever they've been walking by her, hand in hand – and he thinks he can still be friends with her? Everything's changed now. Maybe before her song they had still been able to hang on to their friendship, but since then? She'd put her heart out on the line, tried one more time to get through to him, but he'd not even acknowledged her presence since the strange look he'd given her during the song. And she hadn't failed to spot Quinn hovering behind him then. So what was this? _

_She doesn't understand him anymore. It stopped the moment she realized he was fooling around with Quinn behind Sam's back. It made her sick to her stomach knowing about it, but she'd swallowed the feeling and her pride and had gone to him then. Hearing his admission about how kissing Quinn made him see fireworks… it had been like breaking up all over again. Just worse. Because the boy lying sick on that bed hadn't been the boy she thought she knew anymore. Everything somehow seemed false._

_In the weeks that had followed she'd had a glimmer of hope again when it seemed there was nothing going on between him and Quinn, and his continued support for her ideas and her song-writing had made her think she just needed to re-evaluate him, to re-learn Finn, so to speak. It had been good to have their friendship back, at the least. It'd been what had made her stand up against Quinn when the blonde had told her about them being tog-_

_Suddenly she knows. All this – is his attempt to apologize; he's trying to make himself feel better about not telling her the truth._

"_It's okay. I get it," she says, and her annoyance shifts to an overwhelming sadness._

"_Get what?" He looks at her, startled out of his own reverie, and for a moment she wonders what he's been thinking about that made him look so… so utterly forlorn. There's something about his eyes that just makes her want to throw her arms around him and hold him, but she forces the thought out of her head. It's just a stupid remnant of their past. She doesn't doubt that he feels bad about this, but it's not up to her to comfort him now. Not like that. Still, she can't help trying to comfort him in some way._

"_Look, I'm sorry. I know, I've been saying that over and over about so many things, and it really seems like all conversations we have lately always have me apologizing for something, but I mean it."_

_If anything, the look he gives her is one of irritation. "So what are you sorry for this time? I don't know what you're—"_

_Has he forgotten what he told her once – that he feels what she sings? Or was that just one of those things he said to make her feel better about herself? "My song- I mean, you said you could feel what I sing about," – does she really need to spell it out for him now? – " and I thought that maybe if I sang about how I felt about us, you'd understand… forgive… I guess I hoped for-" – she's rambling now, and she knows it; more as an observation to herself she adds, "… but I was just ignoring the truth one more time."_

_The irritation she saw in his eyes a moment ago has transferred itself to his voice when he asks her after a long moment of silence, "… What truth is that?"_

_She sighs and looks down at her feet. She doesn't really feel like explaining it all - she shouldn't need to explain it at all to him, but it's just another bitter reminder of how wrong things have become. "Your relationship with Quinn - it's obvious she is what you want and I have no right to try and force myself between you once again. I knew it, and still I tried. "_

_For a moment she has this surreal feeling as if the ground were slowly slipping away from beneath her all this time she's talking – they're talking; nothing really seems real anymore. She doesn't know why she's not crying yet; she's so far removed from the initial feeling of annoyance by now, and every word she hears and says just makes her more miserable. Thinking about it all, having to explain it all in such detail just so he'd understand what he should have understood from the beginning if they truly ever understood each other…it just hurts so much to try and make sense of it. Can't it just be what it is? Can't they be done with it already?_

"_Rachel—"_

_That one word by him can hold so much emotion… she looks up at him, to find his eyes trained on her, watching her, his expression pained and miserable, but she thinks there's something else. Pity. _

"_Don't." She doesn't need his pity. _

"_I-" he tries again. _

_But she doesn't need any of his commiseration or his weak attempts at comforting her. All she needs is to be forgiven and loved again. And for any of this to make sense._

"_How-?" Her eyes are pleading with him where words are failing her. It's been a question burning and stinging on her mind and tongue forever now (since Quinn admitted it) but now somehow she finds the words won't come out right. _

"_How what?" She finds him looking at her with a frown on his face. _

"_How can you – how can you be with her? After everything she's done to you?"_

"_I—" he begins, his face a mask of discomfort, and then stops again, to look at her in surprise. "Wait – you said you knew it. You mean, you'd known all along?"_

_Had he only caught on to that now? "That you were back with her? Yes!" _

"_How did you know? She- we- we didn't –" She watches the surprise written on his face change into puzzled embarrassment._

"_She told me, Finn. I asked her, and she told me."_

"_What did she say?" His voice is beginning to sound different again; there's an odd edge to it now that she doesn't know what to make of._

"_Ask her." She doesn't want to revisit that day again, not even in words only._

"_I'm asking you."_

_Why is this even important? "Don't."_

"_Rachel—" _

_She can't figure out why he would be so determined to find out. She has no intention of telling him anything about that conversation – it hurts too much. She's already dangerously close to losing control over her emotions as bitterness bubbles up inside her at the thought of her conversation with Quinn; it bursts out of her in a dry, miserable laugh as she's trying valiantly to distract both him and herself from what he truly wants to know._

"_You were right, about accessing the hard pain. That was what made it possible to write a good song. You could say we have her to thank for winning Regionals. Call it her contribution to the song-writing process."_

"_What did she say?" His insistent request comes after a long silence broken by a gasp; she realizes that if anything, her attempt at distraction made it worse rather than anything else._

"_Ask her!" she repeats her previous answer, her voice raised but just as stubborn as his._

_He reaches out for her, out of reflex it seems, and she can feel his fingers slipping along her neck; the touch makes her tremble before she remembers to jump backwards, out of his reach, his fingers left hovering in the air between them. "Don't!"_

_But that one gesture is enough to crack the guards of her resolution; it makes her painfully aware of how much she misses the comfort of his touch. She can't stop herself anymore; what has been bottled up so carefully around him, inside her, has to burst forth with a vehemence that makes him recoil further. "What does it matter what she said? What does any of it matter? The only thing that matters is that you chose to forgive her. Her! She's done you wrong in so many ways, she cheated on you in a way so much worse than I ever could, then lied to you for months instead of confessing at once like I did; she blamed you for a pregnancy that you never caused, berated and belittled you at every turn, made you feel worthless and stupid- and yet you chose to forgive her! And me – me, you can't forgive this one stupid mistake that I told you about instantly!"_

_He stares at her with eyes huge and strangely liquid, his lips a thin line over a trembling chin, but she pushes on, not able to stop the onslaught anymore even if she wanted to. Her own eyes are brimming over with tears unshed – tears that spill from them as she continues, that make her unable to see past the blurredness of her own misery. "Isn't that what love is all about? Forgiveness? How many times have I forgiven you for your mistakes? For all the times you hurt me in some way? You know why I was able to? Because I love you! I've always loved you, and that's why I could forgive you. But you forgive her and not me. You know what that tells me? That you love her, and not me! "_

_She's sobbing now, her shoulders shaking, yet she plows on. "I n-never r-really stood a chance, d-d-didn't I? I've – I've been trying to w-win you back, to g-g-get your for-forgiveness, w-w-wondering why it's so hard to g-get that if you loved me – but you don't, so all this was just pointless, isn't it? It's always b-b-been her! An-an-and I even wrote a stupid s-s-song about it! D-did you ever even care about me? Or was it all just some s-stupid g-game to you, like you're w-w-walking through school with her on your arm n-now, f-f-flaunting your love before my eyes, uncaring how much th-this hurts me? Do you ha-have to make it so o-o-obvious how little I mean to you?"_

_Her misery is slowly making way to bitterness and anger over the injustice, the unfairness of it all. "I never thought you could be this mean. I thought I knew you – understood you! But you know what? Maybe you really deserve each other, you and Quinn. You can have your perfect life with a perfect house and perfect kids and a perfect garden and a perfect porch swing, and Quinn can work in real estate and you in Burt's shop and that's really perfect, too, for you. Maybe I should be grateful to her, for telling me the truth. I always felt you wanted more than that, but I guess I was mistaken. But at least it gave me something to sing about, right? At least I can take that with me – a broken and shattered heart that's forever yours. Because I'll always love you, that will never change, but I'll just have to learn to live with it as I go back to concentrating on becoming a famous Broadway star, and one day when someone asks me in an interview how I'm so convincing at playing broken-hearted I'll just-"_

"_Would you stop?"_

_His words cut through hers, a bare croak but still effective at silencing her for a moment. She forces herself to look up at him and finds him with his eyes shut tight. But a second later they open, and she's not quite sure how to read what lies in them. Shock? Horror? Shame? Pain? She's so beyond trying to understand what's going on in his mind. _

_She watches him swallow, once again closing his eyes as he gulps down a breath noisily. Not certain if he intends to say anything else, she's about to continue her own rant, but then he reaches for her again, and grabs her wrists._

"_Rach," he says. Hearing him use the so familiar nickname hurts even more than anything after all this time; she's not heard it since the day he broke up with her. She sees him grimace, and wonders if he realizes it, too. He swallows again, and she watches his adam's apple bob up and down in apprehension. "You have got to stop this, Rach-el. Please!"_

_He's pleading with her and she doesn't know what to make of that._

"_Don't you realize how ridiculous this is? Can you just for once let all this drama and crap go and just be honest with yourself?"_

_Her brows furrow as he tugs on her wrists with every word; she can't believe he just called any of this ridiculous. "How can you ev-"_

"_No! Listen! For once – just this once – can you just drop it? This isn't some play, you're not playing a part – can you just look beyond this fucking stage you always think you're on?"_

"_WHAT? How dare y-"_

_She's shaken off his hands, her anger giving her that extra burst of strength she needed to free herself of his hated hold of her; she's trembling with indignation at his assumption that this is all some game of hers. How dare he think that – when he himself is the one who's been playing her all this time? But the next moment his hands grab her shoulders, and she finds herself shoved backwards. Her eyes fly upwards, shocked, to meet his, and for a moment he looks as shocked as she feels before the look in his eyes changes to something else she can't read and he drops his hands. She tries to protest again, but is silenced by the glare from his eyes._

"_NO! You had your say, now you're going to listen to me!" He's never sounded so angry with her before. Disappointed, miserable, annoyed, grumpy – but never angry. _

"_Fine." She crosses her arms in front of her chest._

"_All this crap you keep saying about forgiveness, that's all fine and well, but you know what? That's not all that love is about. How about not hurting someone you love? How can you even say you love me when you had no trouble doing something you KNEW would hurt me? I'd never ever do that to you."_

_She's opening her mouth to interrupt him, to throw his lie right back into his face but he won't let her. "I know, I KNOW, right? I know I hurt you when I didn't tell you about Santana, but, see, I didn't tell you because I knew it would hurt you and I couldn't face doing that to you. All I ever wanted was for you to feel happy and safe and loved and, and- trusted, and hurting you in any way wasn't something I ever wanted to do. But what you did…? You wanted to see me hurt. You ch—you did what you did because you knew it would hurt me, and that's the reason you did it. To cause pain. And that's not something you do if you truly love someone."_

_She stares at him, her mind drawing – for the first time since this conversation started – a complete blank trying to think of something to say. _

"_So just stop telling yourself – or me – that you love me; fuck, can't you just be honest to yourself this once, and admit it's all just another damn role you're playing or something? It's like you cast yourself as the tragic hero in some fucked-up high-school drama and I'm just there to make you feel better about yourself when you've brought yourself down."_

_Her body feels numb; all that's left of her – that is capable of feeling anything – is trying to keep it together somehow. She cannot believe the words coming out of his mouth; cannot believe he's not even struggling to find the right words - that it's all just bursting out of him like he fully believes what he's saying. He cannot be. _

"_I know I'm about as smart as a brick when it comes to some things – but I always could tell what was going through your mind. Or that's what I thought, until you cheated and turned everything upside down. Can't you even see what that did to me? I couldn't even trust anything anymore. But you just tried and tried and tried to get me back, like it didn't matter what you'd done. You're so hung up on this- this fixation with me, that it's all you care about. But that's all it is, Rachel. You don't love me. Not really. You just need me to practice your grand tragic role on. To feel better about yourself. To support you when no one else in Glee club will. That's not love."_

_She closes her eyes against his words, wishing she could close her ears off against him, too, but that's to no avail. It's too late for that – his words are already ringing in her ears over and over again, firmly cementing the thought in there that he doesn't think she's ever loved him. That he himself sounds as miserable and hurt as she feels – she doesn't want to acknowledge even though she hears it well enough by now._

"_We were better as friends, and that's what I'd been trying to be for you before all this; __**you**__ were better off with us as friends. I'm glad you're going back to your dreams - you need to foc—"_

"_Do you really believe that?" she finally interrupts him, barely able to squeeze out the words. He's been looking away from her during that last bit; now he looks back at her and meets her eyes and that's all she needs to finally come apart._

_Breaking out in tears once again, she flees, unable to stay in his presence any more._

* * *

It's amazing how some things – some memories - stay with you as clear as daylight. No matter how hard you try to forget, everything you do just brings you right back to where you began, and every try just makes it worse. Because it doesn't really get better with time. It doesn't really hurt less. It just makes you go over everything again and again, analyzing, reinterpreting, trying to make sense of it, trying to find something to hang on to, to give you hope or let you move on, and all you're left with in the end is the realization of how much of a mess your life is.

But the thing with memories like that is that they stay with you as you grow and learn, and sometimes you grow a little wiser, and learn a little more about life, and suddenly the mess your life is becomes the mess you made of it when you look at it again in all your newfound wisdom.

Yet for all that realization, you've still got a problem admitting its truth to yourself. You don't want to confess that you made mistakes. Because such a confession hurts. And you don't know if you can deal with any more of that. But also – and the more you think of it, the more you know it's the absolute truth – because such a confession forces change. And you don't know if you're ready for that yet.

* * *

"- _the ghost of a girl that I want to be most,  
I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well –_

_Dancing slowly in an empty room,  
can the lonely take the place of you;  
I sing myself a quiet lullaby;  
then you go and let the lonely in,  
to take my heart again…"_

She's singing quietly to herself. She doesn't know exactly at which point she failed to have the strength to continue the previous song, but it's left her feeling so tired and worn. It had been full of passion, full of misery, full of so much heartbreak – she'd sung until she just couldn't take it anymore, and broke down into yet more tears.

It had been the wrong song, somehow. This one feels more right. But it's still not perfect.

"… _too afraid to go inside,  
for the pain of one more loveless night,  
for the loneliness will stay with me,  
and hold me until I fall asleep."_

Loveless she knows. Loneliness, too. A part of her can accept them both as of her own making. Another part still stubbornly insists that others are much easier to blame. But that part is slowly running out of excuses.

"_I'm the ghost of a girl that I want to be most,  
I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well-"_

The worst realization has been that she's been holding on to something that's long been broken, and it's not even just her relationship with Finn. It's more that her dreams seem empty and cheap now. They're in New York now – the place she's always dreamed about once living in – and yet, somehow, it's not what it should be like. And she seems to lack the power to turn it back into what she wants it to be. The part of her that's still fighting her wants to return to being that girl that could believe in this magical world of Broadway where she'd find acceptance and stardom instantly. She wants to be that girl again, because that girl is all that she used to know, and it's easier to return to that than accept that she's someone different now.

"_Broken pieces of  
a barely breathing story  
where there once was love  
now there's only me  
and the lonely."_

But she can't return to that version of her. She's changed. He's changed her. They have changed her. She's tried to fight it for all she could over the last few months, but it really just came down to this night and the realization that she's changed whether she wants it or not, and she can't go back to the Rachel who thought she didn't need anyone for anything.

It's kind of ironic, really, singing this song about loneliness, if that's the furthest from what she really wants to be. But it fits her, in an eerie way, because she's destroyed so much and burned so many bridges with her behavior that it's all she's left with.

"_I'm_ _the ghost of a girl that I want to be most,  
I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well –"_

She pulls her feet up and onto the bench, pulling them close until she sits there curled up with her arms tightly around them. The darkness around her is almost complete, but if she closes her eyes she can almost see the edges of the room she's dancing through in her imagination.

"_Dancing slowly in an empty room,  
can the lonely take the place of you;  
I sing myself a quiet lullaby;  
then you go and let the lonely in,  
to take my heart again…"_

"Rachel?"

* * *

**A/N #2: The song Rachel's singing here is **_The Lonely_, **by** _Christina Perri_**. I spent a long time trying to decide what song she would be singing when Finn finally finds her, and I admit a lot of my trouble with updating this story came from not finding the perfect song for my purpose. But this one just worked – it's been on my mind a lot lately whenever I thought of the Rachel she is at this point.  
Anyway – there you have it in all its glory. The chapter, I mean. The flashback. The reason everything's got so messed up. Some other things played a part in it, too, of course, but we'll get to those in due time, and this one really was the catalyst to all their misery. I'd love to know what you think of it – if it's reasonable enough. Reviews would be lovely.**


End file.
